I thought October 1st, 2009, was the worst day Cyndy and I had ever experienced. That was the day our older son died. Then October 2nd came, the day after.
I thought May 24th, 2022, was the worst day Uvalde had ever experienced. That was the day of the mass shooting at Robb Elementary School. Then May 25th came, the day after.
I used to think that Good Friday was the worst and most difficult day of Holy Week, then I experienced Holy Saturday in my life. Holy Saturday is what the Church calls the day after.
Holy Saturday is when the loss we experienced on Good Friday becomes really real. And you know as well as I that Good Friday comes to us in lots of different ways – the death of a loved one, a diagnosis, a failure, a betrayal, a divorce, a shattered dream, a break up, a break down. It’s the day when a piece of our life is lost or taken from us.
On Holy Saturday we sit with our loss and realize again and again that it really is gone. It really did happen. It’s not just a nightmare from which we will awaken.
It is a day when everything we thought we knew, believed in, and counted on to be true is called into question. What was is no longer. What will be is not yet. And all we can do is wait. And wait. And wait.
Today even the church looks as if it is waiting for something. Take a look around. The church is bleak and empty. There are no candles, no decorations, no colors. It’s stripped and barren. Lifeless. It’s a quiet day. There is no music or singing. The liturgy is short and sparse lasting only fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. In life, however, Holy Saturday waiting can last months, even years.
I’ve sat opposite the tomb and waited with Mary Magdalene and the other Mary. I’ve stared at the great stone that separates me from what used to be. I’ve felt the weight of that great stone crush my heart. (Matthew 27:57-66) I’m sure you have too.
Listen to how Jeremiah describes his waiting in today’s Old Testament reading (Lamentations 3:1-9, 19-24) He says that he has been besieged and enveloped by bitterness and tribulation. He has been walled in and cannot escape. He feels the weight of heavy chains and his way is blocked by hewn rocks.
Does any of that feel familiar? It’s a pretty good description of waiting, isn’t it? I’ll bet you know what that’s like. I do too.
We’ve all waited in the Holy Saturday of life. Like the psalmist we’ve called to the Lord “out of the depths” of our waiting. (Psalm 130). “I wait for the Lord; my soul waits for him. My soul waits for the Lord, more than watchman for the morning,” says the psalmist.
The psalmist is waiting and watching for the dawn of a new day and light to shine in the darkness. Aren’t we all? There’s something faithful and hopeful about that. Jeremiah, says it beautifully:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
his mercies never come to an end;they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in him.”
What are you waiting for today? What is your Holy Saturday about? Whatever it is that you are waiting for, you do not wait in vain.
On Holy Saturday love declares that you have not been abandoned or forgotten. On Holy Saturday faithfulness promises that something is happening behind the great stone. And on Holy Saturday hope means that a new truth for your life is emerging.
I can’t tell you when, where, or how any of that happens. I can only tell you this. On Holy Saturday “the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting” (T.S. Eliot, “Wait Without Hope,” East Coker).
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Image Credit: “The Two Marys Watch the Tomb” by James Tissot – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2007, 00.159.326_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons.
Interrupting the Silence 
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